


the end of the world is nigh (and what about you and i?)

by lifetimeoflaughter



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics), Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Bruce Wayne is a Bad Parent, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Dick Grayson is Ric Grayson, Mentioned Barbara Gordon, Stephanie Brown Needs a Hug, Stephanie Brown Tries, Stephanie Brown is Spoiler, no beta we die like robins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-24 09:07:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30069918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lifetimeoflaughter/pseuds/lifetimeoflaughter
Summary: The bubbles burn in her nose as the fizz subsides. “They didn’t want me around - never have, never will. I think I was always just kind of a nuisance.”Stephanie Brown and Ric Grayson get to talking.
Relationships: Stephanie Brown & Dick Grayson
Comments: 12
Kudos: 68





	the end of the world is nigh (and what about you and i?)

**Author's Note:**

> for my dear friend whom I love very much; i wrote this instead of sleeping. I hope you like it.

“When I look at you,” says Stephanie, her finger circling the rim of her Coke can, “I don’t see him.”

Ric looks up at her, her words drawing his attention from the beer bottle in front of him, confusion and revolt etched into the stubbly, waxy skin of his face.

It’s well past midnight. The two of them are alone here save for Ric’s pretty bartender friend, who’s busy dealing with something in the back. Stephanie’s ratty purple converse rest alternating on the rungs of the ancient barstool she’s perched on, faded purple messenger bag slung over one shoulder. 

“You’re one of them, though,” says Ric warily. His arms are resting on the counter, eyes staring intensely at the bottle in front of him. Him in profile makes the scar doubly visible and it’s an ugly thing; red and pink and red and white, all jagged lines and sharp snatches of still-healing skin. _His hair’s never going to grow back there_ , she thinks absently.

“I’m not one of them.” Her words ring loudly in the empty abyss between them, and he turns and raises an eyebrow at her. “I’m not,” she insists, scrunching up her nose, taking a swig of her Coke. The bubbles burn in her nose as the fizz subsides. “They didn’t want me around - never have, never will. I think I was always just kind of a nuisance.”

“You and me both, doll,” he grumbles, and Stephanie snorts derisively. 

The quiet stretches long and thin between them once more, the only sound in the room being the gentle buzzing from the fanning making lazy circles above them. “Can I ask what happened?”

Ric looks at her in annoyance-or is it caution? Brows furrowed, a little notch above the bridge of his nose. Hard to tell, muses Stephanie, with the bald head. “How about this,” she tries again, valiantly, “you tell me how they fucked you over, and I’ll tell you what they did me? Misery loves company, right?”

His expression clears at that, and he nods. “Right. Ah. Um. What’s there to tell, really? I got shot in the head, I wake up, and I can’t remember anything or anyone, and so-” he stops, pressing his fingertips into his forehead, eyes scrunching up in pain like it hurts him to speak. Without thinking, Stephanie reaches out and places a hand on his shoulder. He starts under her palm, and she almost draws back, but he places his much larger hand over hers, trapping it there gently for a second, like he’s getting his bearings back.

“They, ah- they showed me a video, of...of the thing, happening,” he says quietly, moving his hand away from hers, gesturing vaguely at the scar. “It was...a lot.” Stephanie makes a little horrified noise.

“Then there was the woman, uh red-head, green eyes? You know her?” 

“Barbara Gordon,” supplies Stephanie helpfully. Ric nods.

“Yeah. Her. She, um, she showed up, a lot, actually. Said I wasn’t the man she knew. I told her I never knew the man she knew. Think I pissed her off,” he says, a despondent note in his voice. 

“I’m sorry. That must’ve...stung.” She takes another small sip of her drink.

“You sound like you know what that’s like,” he asks, not at all subtly. Stephanie feels her lips pull in an unwarranted grin. 

“Story for a story, right? Okay, so it’s my turn.” She sets her can down and rubs her hands together in anticipation. “So. I’m fourteen, and my dad’s dead-set on being a villain, and since no one else was gonna stop him, obviously I had to put on a cape of my own.”

“Obviously,” echoes Ric. “Right.”

“So then I’m working to defeat my dad, Batman tells me to go home - spoiler alert, I didn’t,” she winks at him, but he just looks confused. “and then my boyfriend who was also Robin quits being Robin so I become Robin for a bit but it turns out Batman was just kind of using me to get Old Robin back so then I make a mistake and enact one of his hypothetical plans and then I ended up dead. But I got better! And then I came back and then...yeah,” she finishes lamely. 

He looks at her, heartbroken, eyes so deep and blue you could go swimming in them. So she avoids his eyes, tucks an errant strand of hair behind her ear, drums on the counter, humming a little song. 

“You... _died_ ,” she hears him say.

“Yep.” Her reply is nonchalant and her hands are steady, but she can hear her heart in her ears.

And then she hears, “I’m so sorry, Stephanie.” 

Her breath catches in her throat, and her eyes prickle just a bit. “They’re utilitarian with their love,” she chokes out.

He’s back to looking confused. Stephanie wants to reach out and smoothen out the little indent between his brows with her thumb. Instead, she traces the edge of her Coke can again with her nail, the material making a funny scraping sound under her chipped purple polish. “What?”

“Utilitarian. They only really love you so long as you’re useful. So long as you serve a purpose.” Maybe she’s imagining it, but out of the corner of her eye it looks like Ric’s face falls a fraction. 

“Aren’t we...family? Or...supposed to be, at least?” The question is childlike. Damian had mentioned something about his last memory being the night his parents had died, and what, he’d been eight, at the time?

Stephanie shrugs. Takes another long sip, the fizz almost completely gone from the soda. “I wasn’t useful enough to be family. Good enough stand-in, but nothing more than that. Not really.”

The room falls silent again. He doesn’t say anything, but the sadness on his tired face speaks volumes. 

“They don’t mean to be that way, you know.” Why is she making excuses for them? What does it matter anymore? “It’s just-things matter too much to care about anyone who doesn’t contribute, or needs to be looked after. Bigger fish to fry, and all that.”

“Oh,” says Ric. 

He looks so alone, so sad and pathetic and tired that Stephanie’s heart aches for him. He didn’t ask for any of this - and that slow-licking flame in her stomach, dampened by the sorrow she felt for him flares up again when she thinks of Bruce and Babs leaving him behind just because he wasn’t their Nightwing anymore. 

Just then, the pretty bartender comes back. “Aw, Ric, you’re still here? Come on, man. Time to go home. Up you get, come on.”

She bundles them outside, and then the lights inside are switched off, and the shutters on the outside pulled down. Ric shivers in his light jacket as they stand there on the curb. The moonlight makes silvery streaks on the scar tissue encompassing the side of his head.

“I don’t even have a home to go to,” he says, after a minute of the two of them standing in the cold. “I’ve been living in my car. I’ve been- I’ve been living all alone. I don’t- have anyone left. No one. In my car. Alone.” He clutches at his head, and his face screws up like he’s trying to hold back tears- 

And maybe this isn’t the best course of action to take, and maybe she’ll regret this in the morning, but she puts her hands on his shoulders anyway. “Hey. Hey. You’re not alone.”

“The hell does that mean,” he says gruffly, eyes still closed. The moonlight catches on teardrops just-barely escaping his eyes.

“You have me.” Her voice is more confident than she feels, but he seems to believe her, so she carries on. “You have me. And I am going to drive us to a motel tonight in your taxi. We are going to rent a room with twin beds, and we are going to sleep like decent human beings. And in the morning, we will deal with whatever it is we have to deal with.”

He snorts. It sounds half-hysterical. “What’s so funny?” she asks.

“Us. Decent human beings,” he says, and then he smiles, a true, wickedly sweet, Ric smile. Stephanie finds herself smiling back.

When they get in the car, as Stephanie buckles her seatbelt and checks her mirrors, he looks at her seriously. 

“Who was I, to you before?” His question is open, honest; his eyes are tired and a little bleary from sleep deprivation. 

“I never got the chance to know him,” says Stephanie honestly. “I have the chance to get to know you now.”

He considers this for a moment. She watches him carefully. “So when you look at me,” he says slowly, “you don’t see him?”

“I don’t see him,” Stephanie confirms. “I just see you.”

**Author's Note:**

> why is it that whenever i'm in distress i write steph? who knows. 
> 
> anyway, thanks for reading <3\. also posted on my [tumblr.](https://lifetimeoflaughter.tumblr.com/post/645769160472870912/the-end-of-the-world-is-nigh-and-what-about-you)


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